The Face of a Ghost
by star54kar
Summary: The war raged on after Harry Potter lost his life shortly after he defeated the Dark Lord. Now, ten years after Harry's death, Ron finds himself in a very unexpected situation. Pairing: Harry/Ron.


**Title: **The Face of a Ghost**  
****Rating:** M  
**Challenge:** One boy, missing and presumed dead, shows up on the other's doorstep X number of years later. (Ron's POV)**  
Summary: **The war raged on after Harry Potter lost his life shortly after he defeated the Dark Lord. Now, ten years after Harry's death, Ron finds himself in a very unexpected situation.

**Pairing:** Harry/Ron**  
Warnings: **Angst, slash, violence, illusion to past torture, and bad language.**  
Notes: **Written for the hprwfqf community on Livejournal. Many thanks to the wonderful weetziecat, for her amazing beta work.

**The Face of a Ghost**

Ron awoke instantaneously to the bright flickering light of his alarm, alerting him to the disturbance of his wards. His wand was already in hand, a very important lesson taught to him by fifteen years of continuous war; never fall sleep without your wand within your grasp, your survival may very well depend upon it. Ron was out of the bed within seconds; rapidly keying into the wards and confirmed what he already suspected: someone had attempted to Apparate into his bedroom.

Ron had known deep down in his gut that there would be an attack like this soon. The capture of Bellatrix Lestrange had thrown the Death Eater forces into frenzy and now that the insane witch had finally been given the Dementor's Kiss, Ron was certain there would be a scramble to ascend to her coveted role as their leader. As usual, hardly anyone else appeared to be concerned, the general Wizarding population preferring to believe that their problems were over, at least until the next attack.

Even Neville thought that Ron was crazy when he insisted on adding the additional security measures the day before, tightly locking down not only his own place, but also the one Hermione and Neville shared. _"Careful there, Ron, your paranoia is becoming even more famous than Mad Eye Moody's."_ As far as Ron was concerned, his "paranoia" was likely the only reason he managed to survive in this time of never ending turmoil. Ron had lost too many people he loved to this war and he'd be damned if he'd let anyone else die due to his negligence.

Hermione, at least, had understood that if any Death Eater aspired to take control of Bellatrix's vacant throne, Harry Potter's only remaining friends were certain to be the prime targets. She merely granted her permission and clung tightly to Neville, seeking solace and comfort in his embrace while Ron tripled the strength of their security.

Ron was very grateful for his foresight now. His wards had worked perfectly, diverting what appeared to be a lone intruder into a secure room downstairs. Dressing himself with a mere flick of his wand, Ron cautiously made his way to the lower level of his house. Ron's heart thundered in his chest as he approached the room. While he hoped to take down the intruder as quickly as possible, Ron knew all too well, from years of battle experience, that the most dangerous confrontations can arise with people who have been cornered; they usually fight with the desperation of someone who has nothing to lose.

Ron opened the door slowly and silently; his wand held firmly before him in his battle stance. Entering the room carefully, Ron spotted the intruder. The man was crumpled on the floor, facing away from the door, and he appeared extremely disorientated. Ron couldn't help but notice that the intruder was wearing practically nothing; a thin, ragged scrap of black cloth wrapped about his waist served as his only bit of modesty. The man had filthy, long black hair that stood out wildly in all directions. He was thin as rail, ribs sticking out unnaturally from his slight frame and his entire body appeared to be covered with a thick layer of dirt and grime.

Despite the man's appearance giving off the impression of being an escaped prisoner, Ron was taking no chances. Keeping his wand aimed steadily upon the intruder, Ron growled out a low warning, "Don't move," and moved a little further into the room. The man quickly turned his head in the direction of Ron's voice, squinting his eyes in the dim light as if he was straining to see.

'_Great, just great,'_ Ron thought, '_the_ _bloody bastard can't even see that I've got a wand trained on him.'_ Deciding that the best course of action was to go on the offensive, Ron advanced even further into the room. The intruder's startlingly green eyes went wide at the sudden movement and Ron stopped dead in his tracks: he was staring into the face of a ghost.

"Ron?" the man asked, softly, his voice barely audible.

In less than a second, Ron found himself boiling over with rage. He focused all of the heat of that anger toward the intruder and shouted, "_STUPEFY!"_

As soon as the hex landed, and the man collapsed in a heap, unconscious, Ron ran abruptly from the room into his small bathroom, heaving violently. It was unnerving, after ten years, to look into the eyes of his would-be-assassin only to see the face of his dead best friend! Ron was used to people trying to kill him; hell, he'd even come to expect it. But this…this was without a doubt the foulest, most despicable attempt on his life that any Death Eating sleazebag had ever attempted!

Ron finished emptying the vile, churning contents of his stomach, and walked over to the sink, gripping tightly to the sides of the porcelain basin in an effort to steady himself. A long moment passed before Ron was finally able to regain his composure. He released his vise-like grip from the sink and turned on the tap; splashing the cool water liberally across his face. With new motivation, Ron returned to the room to deal with the unconscious imposter.

After a quick assessment, Ron levitated the dark haired man into a nearby chair. A spell pulled the imposter's hands behind his back, where a rope bound them together firmly. A second spell was used to form a ring of rope about his ankles, and a third secured the man's body to the chair.

It had been ten long years since Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord and had been subsequently cut down by Bellatrix Lestrange. Ten years since Ron had spent endless days in the caves as he searched desperately for Harry in the chaotic aftermath of Voldemort's demise; returning with snapped wand fragments and Harry's glasses. They never found his body.

Ron knew that he should call the Aurors to come and deal with this imposter; have him carted away to Azkaban to rot away with the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Fenrir Greyback. But as Ron gazed upon his unconscious prisoner, he knew that was _not_ what he was going to do. Like it or not, this was personal now, and, before Ron was even willing to entertain the idea of calling in the authorities, he was going to find out _exactly_ why this bastard looked like his best friend.

Perhaps the most unnerving thing about the imposter was his uncanny attention to detail. There had been a few foolish attempts to impersonate Harry in the first year after his death. Boldly stupid, they had merely strolled into the Ministry of Magic as if they owned the place, wearing impeccable robes and a bright smile. Every one of them wore the trademark glasses, and every one of them carried an intact wand. Every one of them found themselves instantaneously arrested.

This man, however, arrived battered and dirty. His face was not exactly as Ron remembered him, but aged appropriately for the length of time that had passed. His clothing was a mere strip of black cloth, and now that he was closer, Ron could see the vast array of cut, scars, and bruises that covered the man's entire body. The detail that disturbed Ron the most, however, was the fact that there were no glasses adoring the imposter's face. If Harry Potter was ever going to return to Ron alive after all of this time, by whatever kind of divine intervention, this was exactly how Ron would expect to find him.

Unfortunately for this imposter, Ron had stopped believing in divine intervention ten years ago, at the very moment he was forced to accept the death of his best friend. Furthermore, experience had taught Ron that when something happens that's too good to be true, never let your guard down or you'll get tangled in a web of lies.

The man groaned and began to stir, and Ron took a deep breath; setting his expression into a firm line. Ron refused to let this bloody bastard know just how much his stunt had affected him. Safely hidden behind a mask of calm, Ron pointed the tip of his wand at the imposter's chest with deadly precision and waited for him to awaken.

The look-alike slowly opened his eyes, and squinted in a futile attempt to bring the world into focus. As he became aware of his bondage, his breathing quickened and the imposter began to struggle; pulling and straining against the ropes that held him. In the midst of his panic, tears began to stream down the man's filthy face, the trailing droplets revealing streaks of ghostly pale skin.

"You're much better than the others," Ron said quietly, his heart aching as he looked into the man's familiar green eyes. The volume of his voice never changed but the depth of Ron's fury gradually crept into the timber of his voice as he continued, "But let me be clear, I can see right through your game, so I suggest we skip all the bullshit and get straight to the fucking point. Who are you?"

"Ron, please!" the man cried, his voice harsh and coarse, but yet so like Harry's that the mere sound of it made Ron's blood boil. "You know who I am!"

"I know," Ron snarled, "who you're _pretending_ to be. What I don't know is why."

"Ron…"

"Don't," Ron growled, "Don't you dare say my name as if you know me! Do it one more time and I swear I will make you regret it! Now who are you and what are you doing here?"

The imposter looked truly terrified; his entire body trembling in his bonds, and his face, still streaming with tears, looked absolutely desperate. "Please," he begged. "You've got to believe me! It's me, it's Harry!"

Ron's temper exploded with a wild cry and he pounced on the imposter, seized a hold of his filthy black hair and _pulled_, forcing the man's head back to expose his neck. "_Harry_," Ron bellowed, as he roughly jabbed the tip of his wand into the delicate hollow underneath the man's jaw, "wouldn't even know that this place existed, let alone that he could find me here _if he was alive_ _You_ tried to Apparate into my bloody bedroom so don't you fucking tell me that you are _Harry Potter_ you fucking bastard!"

The man hissed with pain and whimpered within Ron's tight grasp. The imposter choked violently, but Ron did not relent; pressing his wand into the man's skin hard enough to bruise. "I can prove it!" he gasped; his green eyes burning into Ron's with the same fire Harry's used to take when he committed himself to a seemingly impossible course of action. "Please, Ron," he pleaded, "ask me anything; something that only I could know. I'll prove it to you, I swear!"

Ron's wand hand was trembling, he wasn't expecting to see that spark; that burst of life that was so uniquely Harry's in the imposter's eyes. Confused and rattled Ron thought, _'What could it hurt?'_ Ever so slightly, Ron loosened his grasp on the man's hair and asked, "The last time I saw Harry we were forced to go in opposite directions. Why did we separate, and what did I say to him before he left?"

The man's wide green eyes gazed into Ron's deep blue ones and he whispered, "I just killed Snape. He hexed Hermione within an inch of her life, and if you didn't get her out of there she would have died. But you didn't say anything to me. I told you that I was going after Voldemort and you grabbed my arm, pulled me close, and kissed me."

Ron's breath caught in his throat and he stumbled backward in disbelief. He'd never told anyone about that. He hadn't even told Hermione! Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he whispered, "Harry?"

"It's me, Ron." Harry said softly, "I swear to you it's me."

In a flash Ron ended the binding spells, his wand slipping from his fingers and clattering loudly to the ground. "I'm sorry," Ron whispered as the lengths of rope melted away from Harry's body. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry." With that, Ron rushed forward, enveloped his best friend in a hug, and cried.


End file.
